Mrs. Enola Fletcher had been a reasonable woman. Certainly she’d been a woman who believed that her great wealth and family name entitled her to immediate respect and that a good measure of servitude should be provided her, by each and every human being on earth. Still, her tongue was not too sharp, and she did smile and laugh a bit here and there. Indeed, Enola Fletcher had owned moments of humility (albeit very few) and greater kindness than some sharing her high rank of social stature.
Therefore, as Briney stood watching the train pull away from the small station platform, studying the large boxcar in which Mrs. Fletcher’s casket rested, she felt new tears of compassion and mourning brimming in her eyes. A man closed the boxcar door just as the train’s caboose rattled past, and then she was gone. Mrs. Fletcher was gone.
Exhaling a heavy sigh of blended sorrow, trepidation, and even guilty reprieve, Briney turned and descended the plank stairs of the train platform. The past few days had seemed like a bad dream—as if they couldn’t have truly heaped upon Briney what they had. In fact, Briney was so entirely awash with the sensation of surrealism that she paused before heading back to the boardinghouse in town—paused to glance about at her surroundings, breathe in a deep breath of fresh, free air, and assure herself that she really was standing near the train station in little-known Oakmont, Colorado, having just sent her dead benefactress’s earthly remains on their journey east to New York. Mrs. Fletcher’s children would see to her burial there. After a few more moments of reflection, Briney was convinced that Mrs. Enola Fletcher really was gone and that, for the first time in near to ten years, Briney Thress was on her own.
Straightening her posture, Briney started down the dusty main road leading to Oakmont. At first, she quickened her step. After all, it was her habit to walk quickly any time Mrs. Fletcher wasn’t with her—in that Mrs. Fletcher could hardly do without Briney for one moment and therefore forever and always told her to, “Hurry, Briney! Hasten your step, for I do not want to be long without your company.”
But even as the memory of Mrs. Fletcher’s demands that Briney “hurry” pricked at her mind, Briney slowed her pace to that of a body having nowhere to be at no particular time. After all, Briney had no pressing reason to hurry—no elderly woman waiting impatiently at home for her, expecting to be entertained in some fashion.
Yet Briney found such a slow pace was far too slow. She was not at all used to strolling and thus sped her step a bit—to a pace she rather guessed might resemble that of ambling.
“Yes,” Briney whispered to herself as her face at last donned a smile. “I mean to amble back to town…walk at my leisure.”
It was another thing Briney hadn’t been able to do for almost half of her life—speak her thoughts aloud—and she found it invigorating!
Suddenly, however, her thoughts began to flood her mind in an overwhelming cascade of worrisome succession. She wondered whether she would truly be able to provide for herself the necessities of life, even with the generous sum of money Mrs. Fletcher had gifted Briney hours before her passing—for she truly had no idea how to figure what her needs would cost her in the years to come. Likewise, she began to worry that perhaps the Kelleys hadn’t truly meant what they’d said—that Briney could stay at their boardinghouse for as long as she needed or wanted to. Perhaps they had simply felt sorry for Briney when Mrs. Fletcher (Briney’s sole financial support and semblance of family) had passed away so unexpectedly, leaving her charge, for all intents and purposes, homeless. Perhaps pity was the only reason the proprietors of the Oakmont boardinghouse had offered her a permanent room in their establishment.
Other worries raced through Briney’s mind as she walked. She’d always felt lonesome—her entire life. But at least she’d had Mrs. Fletcher to talk to! Whom would she converse with now? Whom would she serve? What would she do with her time?
With anxiety fast filling her bosom near to bursting, Briney’s attempt at ambling was all too soon replaced by her usual hurrying pace.
For one thing, Briney knew she’d feel better about everything once she’d returned to the boardinghouse. Not only was the money Mrs. Fletcher had gifted her hidden in her room—along with all her worldly possessions—but Bethanne Kelley would be at hand, as well. Bethanne had been such a comfort to Briney over the past few days. Truth be told, even before poor Mrs. Fletcher had passed, Bethanne had quickly earned Briney’s gratitude and affection, and Briney knew that just the simplest of conversations with Bethanne would lighten her own anxious mood.
Bethanne Kelley was the daughter of Walter and Sylvia Kelley, the proprietors of the Oakmont boardinghouse. And it had been Bethanne who had first greeted and welcomed Mrs. Fletcher and Briney to Oakmont. Briney would never forget the moment she first met Bethanne, for she was so astonished at the girl’s radiant countenance and pleasant, easy manner of conversation that she’d immediately thought her the brightest, kindest person she’d ever in all her life met.
Bethanne was taller than Briney, with beautiful strawberry-blonde hair—the color of hair Briney had always wished she’d been born with, instead of her own rather “snuff-colored” hair, as Mrs. Fletcher had once termed the shade. And Bethanne had beautiful blue eyes—eyes the color of the late summer sky. Briney knew her own eyes, though blue, were nothing as bright and inviting as Bethanne’s were.
“Your eyes remind me of two pieces of cobalt sea glass I once found while beachcombing in the southern states—dark and cold,” had once been how Mrs. Fletcher described Briney’s eyes.
Still, Briney wasn’t envious of Bethanne and her rare beauty of spirit and face—only admiring of her. Not only was Bethanne radiantly pretty, but she also owned a heart of gold and a manner of sincere kindness that Briney had rarely experienced.
Bethanne was entertaining as well. Oh, not in the way Briney had to be entertaining when caring for Mrs. Fletcher. It wasn’t Bethanne’s ability to read aloud to another person for hours on end or to sit and listen to Mrs. Fletcher ramble on and on and on for more hours on end that made Bethanne entertaining. It was her wit and remarkable sense of humor, her ability to see everything in life as either lovely or amusing. Briney admired that quality in Bethanne most of all and often wondered if she herself might have been a more jovial sort had her life circumstances been different.
Therefore, the moment Briney stepped back into the boardinghouse after having sent Mrs. Fletcher’s earthly remains on to New York by way of the train, she instantly felt more hopeful—relieved and less anxious.
Exhaling a heavy sigh of compassion, Bethanne placed a hand on Briney’s shoulder, smiled with sympathy, and asked, “I suppose it’s done then? Is dear Mrs. Fletcher on her way to New York?”
Briney nodded, comforted by Bethanne’s concern. “Yes,” she answered, nodding.
“So the old girl is off to New York, and you’re a free woman now, eh, Briney?” Mr. Kelley asked, striding through the entryway toward the parlor. His arms were filled with wood, no doubt intended to restock the wood basket near the parlor hearth.
“Daddy!” Bethanne scolded. “Don’t be so indelicate!” Bethanne placed a reassuring arm around Briney’s shoulders. “Why, Briney’s just lost someone very near and dear to her. I’m sure her heart is still very tender.”
“I’m sure it is,” Mr. Kelley called from the parlor. “But I seen the way that old bat treated you, Briney,” he added, striding into the entryway once more. “And I don’t mean to sound hardhearted, but I feel like your bonds of slavery have been loosed, and now you can make your own life…and in whatever way you see fit.”
Briney couldn’t help but smile at Mr. Kelley’s forthright explanation of things. Part of her did mourn Mrs. Fletcher’s passing. Yet if she were to confess the truth to anyone, she felt exactly as Mr. Kelley said—as if her bonds of slavery had been loosed and she’d been set free.
“I-I know it might sound just morbid,” Briney began, glancing away uncomfortably for a moment, “but I do feel a mingling of fear and trepidation, loneliness…yet freedom and excitement that I’ve not felt in so, so long.”
Bethanne took Briney’s hands in her own. Staring into her face and nodding, Bethanne encouraged, “Go on. It’s all right to say it, Briney. Truly it is.”
It was as if some pent-up emotion Briney had never allowed herself to express burst from her bosom, up through her throat, and out of her mouth before she could attempt to stop it.
“I had everything I ever needed—food, shelter, clothing,” she began. “Nice clothing, comfortable shelter, and the majority of the time better food than most people enjoy on a regular basis. As far as temporal needs, I wanted for nothing.”
“Perhaps not,” Bethanne said. “But…but it doesn’t seem as if you had much…well, much fun, much merriment at all.”
Briney nodded and continued. “No…no, not much. But I was far happier and better cared for than I would’ve been had I been forced to stay in the orphanage until I was eighteen. And even then, what future awaited me when I was of age and turned out from the institution?” She sighed, burying her disappointment in having lived a life of servitude in Mrs. Fletcher’s care in favor of being content with the fact she had not had to linger cold, alone, starving, beaten, and neglected in the orphanage asylum. “In truth, it was a life many young ladies would diligently seek after, I suppose. As Mrs. Fletcher’s companion, I’ve been to nearly every country in Europe. I’ve seen lions and elephants on the vast plains of Africa, lingered in grand palaces in South America.”
“It does sound adventurous,” Bethanne commented. “I suppose an exciting life the likes you have lived would be preferable to the simple days and nights we all of us linger in here.”
It was then that Briney could no longer bury her disappointment at having been so lonesome for so long. As tears welled in her eyes, she looked to Bethanne, placed a firm hand on her friend’s arm, and said, “No, the path that brought me here was not a joyous one, Bethanne. It was lonely, solitary in so many ways, and entirely void of any mirth and laughter that was my own. I would not wish it on anyone, other than those who have had to endure the worse existence of life in an orphanage or asylum. You have had a wonderful, beautiful life, filled with family, love, and joy. No sort of luxurious travel, no lingering in the shadow of the Taj Mahal or any other edifice of history, can compare to a simple life bursting with friends, family, and even hard work. Always remember that. Your upbringing was a blessing…and the stuff of my dreams.”
Briney heard Mr. Kelley clear his throat. She and Bethanne glanced at him quickly, only to look back to one another with grins of mild amusement at the fact they’d seen him dabbing tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Well, I best get back to my business,” Mr. Kelley mumbled. “But I will say that we’re mighty glad you landed here with us, Briney Thress. Mighty glad. We might not be the Taj Mahal, but we’ve got good food, comfortable rooms, and a hell of a lot more character than the old bat who brought you here and then up and died on ya. I hope you’ll stay on as long as you like with us.”
Briney smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Kelley,” she told him. “And I hope you mean that, because I don’t plan on leaving any time soon.”
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear you say that, Briney!” Bethanne squealed, throwing her arms around her friend. “I was afraid you might not like our simple way of life, that you might decide you still wanted to travel.”
Returning Bethanne’s warm embrace, Briney sighed. “Not at all,” she assured her friend. “I would be perfectly content to never have to board another ship or even a train for that matter…not ever again!”
“I gotta go slop the hogs,” Mr. Kelley mumbled, again wiping the moisture of emotion from his eyes with his shirtsleeve.
He strode away then, and when he was gone, Bethanne giggled, whispering, “Daddy’s a tenderhearted soul, no matter how hard he tries to convince us otherwise. He didn’t mean to sound so…so…callous about poor Mrs. Fletcher’s passin’.”
Briney nodded her reassurance to Bethanne that she wasn’t at all offended. “Oh, I know that.” She shrugged, adding, “And besides, he’s correct in his observations.”
Bethanne breathed a sigh of relief in knowing her father hadn’t offended Briney.
“Well, I think you’ve had enough chaos and worry these past few days to last a body a lifetime,” Bethanne began. “So why don’t you run on up to your room and rest a while? Read a book or…or just take a little nap or somethin’. I’ll come and get you for supper.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly just…just do nothing at all,” Briney argued, however. She felt abruptly nervous and unsettled. She wasn’t at all used to having time to herself.
“Of course you can!” Bethanne exclaimed. “Why, you’ve done nothing but send telegrams, prepare Mrs. Fletcher’s belongin’s, mourn, and worry these past three days. You need some rest.” Bethanne grinned mischievously, lowered her voice to a whisper, and added, “I left a couple of my favorite dime novels up in your room for ya. Although I’m sure Mrs. Fletcher would not have approved of you readin’ the likes of stories about cowboys and outlaws.”
Briney’s smile broadened. “All the more reason to read them then,” she giggled in a whisper.
Bethanne laughed. “Then it’s settled! You run on up and rest or read or whatever you have a mind to do. I’ll see you at supper, all right?”
“All right,” Briney agreed. All at once she’d realized just how tired she really was. It had indeed been three very long, very taxing, very emotional days, and she imagined a bit of respite and time to think without Mrs. Fletcher and her passing to worry about would be very restful.
“And by the way, Briney,” Bethanne called after her, “a black ribbon is plenty good enough for mournin’ after your Mrs. Fletcher, at least out here in our neck of the woods. Why don’t you wear somethin’ bright and happy when you come down for supper?”
Briney paused in ascending the stairs and looked back to Bethanne in astonishment. “Oh, surely you can’t be in earnest, Bethanne!” she exclaimed. “Why, I’m sure I’m meant to wear all black crape for at least six months! I can’t just—”
“You certainly can, Briney,” Bethanne said, placing her hands on her hips to emphasize her firmness of opinion. “Out here, folks don’t stand so hard on black crape for mourning, even for widows. Why, the longest I’ve ever seen a widow in black here in Oakmont was when ol’ Mrs. Ada Rose Josephson lost her husband, Mr. Josiah Josephson. Mrs. Josephson wore black crape and a veil for all of two months and then nearly passed out from the heat one day while walkin’ through town. She took to wearing just a black hat after that.” Bethanne shook her head. “You’re a bright young woman, Briney, and your life is your own now. No one ‘round here will give a second thought to you not bein’ shrouded in black like the grim reaper.” Bethanne folded her arms across her chest, adding, “And besides, Mrs. Fletcher…she wasn’t even your kin in truth now, was she?”
Briney couldn’t help but smile at Bethanne. She was standing at the foot of the stairs looking so determined that she quite convinced Briney.
“Well, things out here do seem to differ very broadly from back east,” Briney admitted.
“Yep! And that’s how we like it,” Bethanne confirmed. “So no black crape at supper, okay? It’ll ruin everybody’s meal anyhow.”
Briney allowed a quiet giggle to escape her throat—a giggle Mrs. Fletcher would have entirely disapproved of.
“Very well. No more black crape,” Briney agreed.
Bethanne nodded with approval.
Briney was still smiling when she reached her small but comfortable room. Bethanne Kelley was a very strong-minded young woman—a confident young woman who seemed never to doubt herself, her abilities, or her decisions. Briney hoped to one day have the strength of character and self-belief Bethanne had.
Briney exhaled a heavy sigh as she stripped off the uncomfortable black crape dress she’d been wearing for the past three days. It was the most uncomfortable dress she owned, and she was glad to free her body of its dismal black. Though she knew she would struggle in changing her ways from the proper, polite practice of perfect etiquette demanded by Mrs. Fletcher, Briney was inwardly exuberant at the anticipation of a more informal way of life the likes lived in small western towns like Oakmont.
She’d thought she’d be wearing the gloomy black crape for six months, in the least. And the sudden knowledge that she could cast it aside and wear whatever she chose lifted her spirits to a height she’d not known since she was a child.
Briney rather plopped down on her comfortable bed, closing her eyes as the breeze from the open window next to it breathed over her. The lace of the curtains tickled her nose as they wafted to and fro as the fragrant breeze manipulated them, and she giggled, thinking how utterly mortified Mrs. Fletcher would be to know that Briney was lying on her bed in nothing but her undergarments—and doing nothing at all.
Still, her respite was short-lived, for there was one task that needed tending before Briney could relax altogether. The money must be hidden!
Oh, it wasn’t that Briney hadn’t already hidden the money. She’d hidden it the moment Mrs. Fletcher had given it to her, only hours before the poor old woman had passed. But with all the preparations Briney had found herself making in order to have Mrs. Fletcher’s earthly remains transported back to New York to her family, Briney hadn’t really had the time to consider a truly safe hiding place for the money.
Sitting upright on her bed, Briney went to the traveling trunk at the foot of it—the trunk that kept safe all of her sentimental possessions and a few necessities as well. Opening the trunk, Briney carefully removed items, setting them aside, until she uncovered the two old biscuit tins Mrs. Fletcher had presented to her.
As Briney removed the tins from the trunk, she was once more struck by the weight of them. Yet what had she expected? One thousand silver dollars should be heavy! Setting aside the biscuit tins full of coins, Briney removed a tobacco tin from inside the trunk. This was the tin that Briney worried most about losing—the tobacco tin filled with $1,500 worth of banknotes of various denominations. To Briney, the silver coins in the biscuit tins simply seemed more durable than the paper money in the tobacco tin. Regardless of which form of the money was to be worried over the most, she knew that both the coins and the banknotes needed to be hidden, for it was all she had in the world with which to provide for herself the necessities of life.
As Briney glanced around her room, she knew that it would be wise to divide the money and hide it in several different locations, rather than hiding it all together for one burglar to stumble across. But she was tired from the demands of the past few days and therefore chose a hiding place nearby that would serve better than the obvious trunk of valuables.
She began in the wardrobe, searching the back paneling for any loose boards that might prove a secure place to keep at least some of the money. When the wardrobe proved to be no help, Briney investigated the chest of drawers but decided a drawer would be as obvious a place as a trunk to look if one were robbing someone.
At last, Briney determined there was no good place to hide Mrs. Fletcher’s gift—not in her boardinghouse room anyway. She would need to find another place to keep it, perhaps out away from town somewhere—maybe buried under a tree or bush. But in order to cache the money away from town, Briney knew she would need some sort of conveyance or at least a horse.
Pure exhilaration welled in Briney at once then, and she whispered, “A horse! A horse of my very own!”
Opening the tobacco tin, she gazed at the banknotes with in. A twenty-dollar note lay on top of the pile of notes. “I’ll buy my own horse!” she giggled to herself.
Oh, all her life Briney had dreamt of owning a horse—a horse she could ride at her leisure, ride whenever and wherever she wanted to go. And now, as she stood in her lovely little boardinghouse room, staring down at the wealth of money in the tobacco tin, she knew that she had the ability to make her dream come true for herself.
“Yes!” she said, still smiling as she tucked the two biscuit tins and one tobacco tin back into the deepest part of her trunk. “Tomorrow I’ll buy a horse! And I’ll ride it out to wherever I want!”
Plopping down on her bed once more, she sighed. “And I’ll ride my horse astride instead of sidesaddle. For I’m a woman of the west now, and I mean to avoid black dresses, ride astride on my magnificent horse, and feel the wind in my hair and the sun on my face completely careless of whether or not I turn freckled for it!”
And then, for the first time in a decade—as the late summer breeze blew the lace curtains of the window out over her bed and body to soothe and lull her—Briney Thress fell asleep in the very middle of the day, without one concern of whether she would be scolded for it.
*
“In my day, mourning was simply miserable!” Mrs. Abbot said. “A widow was required to wear black crape head to toe for the entire first year. I remember my poor mother being so miserable in that crape after Daddy passed. It wasn’t bad enough that she was left alone with us eight children and a broken heart; society demanded that she be in physical misery as well.” Mrs. Abbot shook her white-haired head, adding, “I’m glad things out west here are different where mourning rituals are concerned.”
“I certainly concur,” Mr. Davenport agreed. “Women had the worst of it, of course. And it seemed like every woman and child in every town was draped in black during the war. And I don’t think that did one bit of good toward raising folks’ spirits none then either.”
“Goodness no,” Mrs. Abbot replied.
He nodded his own white-haired head at Mrs. Abbot and smiled at her. Briney knew, by the look of understanding that passed between the two eldest boarders at the boardinghouse, that they had both lived war-torn lives and thus had a knowledge of how truly painful life could be—a knowledge the others at the table did not own.
“Well, I think that even though Mrs. Fletcher, God rest her soul, was your guardian, Miss Thress…I think a black ribbon round your arm there is plenty of mourning garb for a young girl like you,” Mrs. Kelley offered. “She wasn’t a blood relative, after all…God rest her soul.”
“See?” Bethanne said, smiling at Briney. “I told you no one would think anything at all of your not wearing full mourning dress. Things are different in Oakmont.”
Briney nodded, feeling more relieved than ever. She didn’t want to show any disrespect toward Mrs. Fletcher, but neither did she want to dress all in stiff, itchy black crape for a woman who had treated her more like a slave than a ward.
“And now that that’s settled,” Mr. Kelley began, “have you had any ideas of what you’d like to do with your life now, Briney?”
“Walt, don’t press the girl!” Mrs. Kelley quietly scolded her husband. “For Pete’s sake! She’s only just put the woman on a train this very day.”
Smiling, however, Briney ventured, “Well, I have decided to stay on here in Oakmont…at least for a time.”
“Oh, joy!” Mrs. Abbot explained.
Bethanne giggled. “Thank goodness!”
“I think that’s a right fine decision,” Mr. Kelley interjected. “Oakmont has a lot to offer.”
“I hope you’ll stay on with us here at the boardinghouse as long as you want, Briney,” Mrs. Kelley offered. “You know we’d love to keep you forever, if things work out that way.”
Briney smiled, feeling truly welcomed and wanted. “I do want to stay on at the boardinghouse,” she admitted. Then, inhaling a deep breath, she added, “And I think I’d like to purchase a horse—my own horse—so I can ride out whenever I want to. I’ve always wanted to ride.”
“Oh, that’s a fine idea!” Mr. Davenport exclaimed. “There ain’t nothing in all the world as liberating as riding out away from civilization and just being alone with your own thoughts.”
“I love to ride,” Bethanne said. “Have you ever ridden a horse, Briney?”
Briney nodded as she swallowed a bite of her mashed potatoes. “Oh yes. Mrs. Fletcher made sure I was well trained…although I was never allowed to ride astride as the women out here do. Always only sidesaddle.”
“Well, riding astride is much more comfortable…at least in my opinion,” Mrs. Abbot commented. “I too was taught to ride sidesaddle, but after my late husband and I moved out here, I never rode sidesaddle again.”
“I’ve always ridden astride,” Bethanne explained. “And I have an extra riding skirt if you’d like to borrow it until we can get one made up for you, Briney.”
“You mean, the split skirt kind…like trousers, only…” Briney began to ask.
“Exactly!” Bethanne confirmed. “I’m sure you’ve seen ladies around town wearing them. They’re all the rage out here where we girls ride astride instead of sidesaddle.”
“You need to go on out to the Horseman’s place,” Mr. Davenport suggested.
“Oh, absolutely,” Mr. Kelley emphatically agreed. “Cole’s the best horseman in six counties…at least! He’ll find you a mount that’s perfect for you and what you want, Briney.”
“Cole?” Briney asked.
“Mr. Cole, the Horseman,” Mrs. Kelley explained. “He owns a ranch just three miles west of town, and he’s got so many horses, they’re practically comin’ out of his ears!”
“I agree,” Mr. Davenport said. “Just skip the livery altogether and let Cole set you up with a horse. He’ll do it for a good price too…and probably board it for you.”
Excitement welled inside Briney’s bosom. A horse! Her very own horse! The thought made her happier than she’d felt in a very long time. She could just imagine the freedom owning her own horse would afford her, and she decided then and there she’d venture out to the ranch outside of town the very next morning and talk to this “horseman” about a horse.
“I’ll pay the Horseman a visit then, first thing in the morning,” Briney said, smiling. “Then maybe by the time I sit down to supper with you all tomorrow evening, I’ll be the owner of my very own horse.”
Everyone laughed and offered verbal encouragements. Briney could hardly wait for supper to be over so that she could get to bed. That way morning would be just a night’s sleep away, and she would wake to the possibility of owning her own horse.
Briney Thress had hardly owned anything at all, in all her life, let alone something as wonderful and valuable as a horse. Oh, certainly she had the fine dresses and even some jewelry Mrs. Fletcher had purchased for her over the years. But those were more for Mrs. Fletcher’s benefit than Briney’s. Mrs. Fletcher had explained—on the very day she’d come to the orphanage, chosen Briney to be her traveling companion, and taken her away—that Briney must always be dressed in a manner that reflected well upon Mrs. Fletcher. And so it was Briney had always been dressed, if not lavishly at times, at least very well to do. Therefore, until Mrs. Fletcher had passed away, Briney had never even considered the clothes she wore her own. They always only seemed borrowed somehow.
Thus the very idea—the hope—of owning a horse caused boundless elation to well within Briney.
And so after supper and after a friendly visit with everyone in the parlor, Briney took her leave of the owners and other boarders and hurried upstairs to her comfortable room.
As she readied for bed, Briney was so excited at the prospect of what might transpire the next day that she wondered how in all the world she would manage to settle down and get to sleep.
“A horse of my own? I can hardly imagine it!” Briney whispered to herself as she changed her day dress for a nightgown.
As she climbed into bed and blew out the flame of the oil lamp on the night table next to it, she whispered, “Will it be a bay? Perhaps a chestnut or buckskin?”
Although Briney had never owned her own horse, she had read about them at great length whenever she was afforded the loan of a book of equine subject and therefore knew somewhat about equine breeds, colors, and identifying marks.
Exhaling a heavy sigh, Briney turned over in her bed, closed her eyes, and tried not to think of horses—tried not to imagine herself riding astride a beautiful horse all her own—tried not to wonder what it would feel like to let the sun freckle her face.
Almost instantly, however, Briney’s eyes popped open.
“I’ll never get to sleep!” she moaned.
And then—then she wondered. As the clock resting atop the chest of drawers chimed the half hour, Briney strained her ears in listening—in hoping.
Several days before Mrs. Fletcher’s passing, Mr. and Mrs. Kelley had offered Briney her very own room at the boardinghouse. Briney and Mrs. Fletcher had been sharing a room, of course, being that Mrs. Fletcher always wanted Briney at hand. Yet when Mrs. Fletcher’s illness had begun to worsen so hastily, the kind proprietors of the boardinghouse had recognized Briney’s discomfort and inability to sleep for the sake of poor Mrs. Fletcher’s being in the same room. Therefore, they’d offered her her own room. And when Mrs. Fletcher had passed on to the next life, Briney had asked if she could stay in the room the Kelleys had offered her, paying board until she was sure of what she should do next.
And it had been that first night in her own room when Briney had heard his voice. While lying in her bed and feeling a bit guilty in enjoying being alone, through the open window Briney had heard a group of men begin a discussion.
The air had been just right to carry the voices of the men up from the hitching post in front of the little restaurant Mr. and Mrs. Kelley operated (located just beneath Briney’s room) and in through Briney’s open bedroom window.
The men had begun a friendly conversation over the weather. And although the sounds of all the men’s voices intrigued Briney, it was one voice in particular that had served to truly mesmerize her! This voice, belonging to a man the others referred to as Gunner, was as smooth and rich as molasses. Deep but not too deep, the man called Gunner’s voice served to somehow lull Briney—settle her ragged nerves and chase away her anxieties.
Since that first night near to a week before, Briney had lain in bed each night waiting for the men to leave the restaurant and pause at the hitching post to converse. Sadly, the men didn’t eat at the restaurant every night, but for four of the seven nights Briney had been in her own room, they had—and she hoped tonight would be another night that found the men, especially Gunner, pausing at the hitching post to talk.
Briney’s heart leapt in her bosom as in the very next moment, she heard one man say, “Hey there, Gunner. You headed back to the ranch then?”
“I sure am,” the voice belonging to Gunner answered. “My back’s achin’ like I’ve been sleepin’ on a board for a month.”
“Oh, I hear that,” the other voice chuckled. “I had me a heifer wander off this mornin’, and I spent half the day huntin’ her down. Didn’t get much else done, so now I’m behind all the more than I was when I woke up this mornin’.”
“Oh, I hear ya there, Ethan,” Gunner’s soothing voice chuckled. “And now it feels like the wind is about to come up, and I got chores to do back home before I can hit the hay.”
“I sure don’t care much for the wind,” the man named Ethan commented.
“Me neither,” Gunner said. “The way it gets to howlin’ and moanin’ out at my place…it sounds like an old dog tryin’ to outrun death, and it keeps me up at night. Know what I mean?”
“Oh, I do, Gunner, I surely do,” Ethan said. “Well, you have a good evenin’ all the same now.”
“You too, Ethan.”
Briney closed her eyes, smiling. A cool breeze, fragrant with the scent of flowers and herbs drifting on the air from somewhere, billowed the curtains at the window out over her bed. She didn’t even realize she’d fallen asleep until she awoke the next morning with the bright light of day lighting up the room—having dreamt all the night long of riding her very own horse as the invigorating sense of the wind in her hair and the warm sun on her face cheered her.